ies are all grouped in the centre. I was on one side of Lilly: on the
other was a pretty, foreign-looking little creature dressed in black
with gleams of scarlet breaking through. Imagine what we felt when this
lovely apparition seized Lilly by the wrist and said in a low, agitated
voice, "In the name of Heaven, young lady, tell me where you got the
earrings that you wear in your ears!"

II.

The next moment the dance had separated us. Lilly and I had only time to
exchange one glance of wonder. After the dance, when we were taken back
to our seats and our partners had left us, the stranger came over to us
and said rapidly, in a low voice and with a strong French accent,
"Pardon my impertinence, _je vous en prie_. But is it that you will
answer my question?"

I did not know what to say, but Lilly, who is never at a loss, replied,
"The story would be rather long to give in a ballroom, and I don't know
what right you have to ask it."

"Verra true," said she gently; "but I did once see a pair of buttons ze
twins of your earrings. Ze letters 'C. G.' were engraved on ze gold
backs."

She was watching Lilly closely as she spoke. My sister blushed crimson,
and said, "If that be so, you have more right to them than I have."

"Ah, mon Dieu!" cried the stranger: "it is as I hoped! When can I see
you? Where? how?"

"Come and see me: I am at the St. Charles Hotel. My name is Lilly
Tresvant."

"You are with your mother?"

"No: with a friend--Mrs. Long."

"Ah, your chaperone! And she will wish to know who is your visitor. I
cannot have it arranged that way." She seemed in deep thought: then
said, "Listen, cheres demoiselles. There are reasons why I wish it not
known that we have met: I will explain all when I see you. Do you go
sometimes to ze French market?"

"Oh yes--often."

"Come, then, to-morrow morning: I will meet you. I will tell my story,
and you will tell yours. Mon Dieu! after all these years, how strange! I
must leave you now. Au revoir. Remember, to-morrow, early, at ze French
market; and not one word to your chaperone, Madame Long: you promise?"

We promised of course--what foolish girls wouldn't have promised?--and
the graceful little Frenchwoman moved away, leaving two girls more
interested and excited than they had ever been in all their lives. We
cared no more for the ball: we went home like people in a dream. We
scarcely slept that night, fearing to be late for the French market in
the morning. B